Philips Avance Grill

This is a sponsored post brought to you, in part, by those clever people at Philips.  They have recently launched a product perfect for our English Summers… an indoor Barbeque.  So when they asked me if I would like to try one out the Avance Grill, I took one look at my rain-filled, rusty BBQ, sitting forlornly in the garden and jumped at the chance.  I come from a family that frequently BBQ’s standing under an umbrella, in fact my Dad cooks T-bone steaks on the BBQ every New Years Eve, desperately trying to ignore the cold and wet – so I’ll be one up on them from the start.

I have to admit that I was quite intrigued at the idea of BBQing indoors and I reconciled myself with the fact that the kitchen needed decorating anyway, so any smoke related accident would be fine.

Once the unit turned up I soon realised I would have nothing to worry about.  In essence the Indoor BBQ is part griddle, part hotplate.  It has a small pot built into it that you can fill with woodchips (that come supplied), so as you cook your meat the woodchips slowly burn and release hickory scented smoke.  It has a removable glass lid so you can see what’s going on, whilst trapping in the smoke.  They recommend that you place the BBQ on a board underneath your cooker hood and I had switched on my extractor to full whack in anticipation of bilious amounts of smoke, but again it proved an unnecessary worry as the small amount of smoke that did escape was easily dispersed on the lowest setting.

 

At the back on the grill there is also a reservoir which can be filled with water or wine and herbs which then creates a hot steam that not only adds flavour, but keeps the meat you’re cooking nice and tender. 

They also supply an easy-to-follow recipe book with fish, poultry, meat, veggie and fruit sections and I picked myself out a couple to try out:

Smoke-grilled rib eye with a black pepper rub grilled red and green peppers.
Smokey maple syrup glazed duck breast, grilled crostini.

As a committed carnivore I started with the rib eye steak.  I loaded up the pot with woodchips, filled the reservoir with water and thyme then turned the grill on. 

  

 

Every time I opened the lid to turn the steak I got a lovely whiff of smoke and herbs and the steaks seemed to be cooking nice and evenly.  The recipe said to cook the meat for 18 minutes in total, but I cooked it for a little bit less as I prefer it a bit rarer (and to be honest the smell was making me hungry).  I hastily made up a salad as I let the meat rest and then tucked in.

 

Man the steaks tasted honest-to-god good.  The smoke and the thyme had mixed well together and the steak had stayed nice and juicy, not the easiest thing to achieve when cooking them outdoors.  Recipe one was a winner.

The following night was duck night, not a meat I had cooked before as I had always been worried about over/under cooking – I wasn’t holding out much hope and the Mrs had the Chinese delivery menu handy.

Again I filled the pot with woodchips, but this time I filled the reservoir with red wine.  The menu called for the duck to be cooked for 16 minutes and again, every time I opened the lid to turn the duck I got hit with an aroma bomb.  I then glazed the duck and kept turning it for a couple of minutes before taking it off the grill and letting it rest.

 

Another hit.  The duck was the right side of pink, full of flavour and something I would definitely cook again.  Unfortunately due to a glass or three of wine being consumed, I forgot to take any finished photos so you’ll just have to take my word for it.

So far I had cooked two semi-expensive cuts of meat, so I decided to test the grill with some ropey old pork chops to see if it was the quality of meat I was impressed with, or the grill itself.  I filled the pot with some whole Szechuan peppers, and the reservoir with water and some sliced ginger. 

 

I cooked the chops for about 8 minutes and at the end of that time they were cooked through, succulent and the hint of ginger and Szechuan really added to the taste.

 

At the front of the grill there is a removable drip tray that catches all the unwanted grease and the grill is non-stick and comes apart easily, which all adds up to an easy cleaning experience (something I was dreading to be honest).

All in all I have been very happy with the Avance Grill and I can see myself using it on a regular basis, including taking it with us to Center Parcs this October.  It’s easy to use, easy to clean, cooks beautifully and really adds a smokey flavour to your food.  This will definitely not be going into the gadget graveyard that is my cupboard under the stairs.

Many thanks to Philips and Samantha at Ketchum Pleon for supplying me with the Avance Grill for testing.  Homebase and Argos are stocking the Avance Grill and it’s priced at £120 (RRP).

There's no such thing as a free lunch

Recently the lovely people at vouchercodes.co.uk contacted me and asked if I would like to participate in a new project of theirs called The Most Wanted Fuss Free Dining Report.  The idea is to get to the bottom of which nationwide restaurants really are the most child-friendly, welcoming and serve up the best value-for-money fare.  Now I must admit that I don’t normally look forward to taking my feral brood out to eat, add to that it was now the end of a long hair-tearing half term and I was about to turn their kind offer down.  Then I spotted the words “and it’s on us” and I was sold.

After a quick conflab with the family, it was decided that we would visit Prezzo in South Woodford during Saturday lunchtime.  Prezzo sets its stall out as an Italian Restaurant chain and I had eaten there before, albeit without the kids, and had enjoyed the experience.  Now to find out how it would cope with the Harding’s en masse.

We arrived at 1.40pm and had missed most of the lunchtime rush, so we were ushered straight to a table that was within view of the chef who was making pizzas in a wood fire oven.  I have to say the ‘front of house’ welcome wasn’t exactly the warmest I’ve received, as my Dad always says “A smile doesn’t cost a penny”.  I considered passing this snippet onto our waitress, but her icy stare stopped me short.

I hate to use the word ‘posher’ but as I can’t think of a suitable alternative it will have to do.  Prezzo is a bit posher than  the Pizzas Huts, Harvesters or any of the chains with a play area, which is why we don’t normally bring the kids here, they tend do need to run about between courses.  Luckily for us (and the other diners) the kids had realised that they were in somewhere a bit nicer than Kathy’s Café and were behaving appropriately.

The waitress brought over the obligatory ‘kids menus that doubles as a puzzle/drawing mat’, but neglected to bring pencils as they had run out.  Kaede started to express her outrage at such service and the waitress quickly found two pencils that had fallen behind the till, a lucky escape.  Plus they had a good mixture of puzzles and drawing on them, so they would be a welcome distraction.  I promised my 17 year old daughter Storm that I wouldn’t mention that she got stuck on the crossword, so that never happened OK?

Our waitress then went through her super speedy spiel and took our drinks orders.  To my horror Kaede asked for a beer only for Nate to tell her they were only allowed Daddy’s beer at home.  I ignored my Wife’s stare of shame and buried my head in the menu.  Luckily for me they have a good wine list, so I ordered a bucket of wine for the Mrs and a super-sized Peroni for myself.

The kids starters arrived quite quickly, pizza dough garlic bread, and I used the rare moment of silence to take in the ambience of the place and enjoy my beer.  With starters finished and a change of waitress, we were asked if we were now ready for our mains, thus giving us the chance to move the meal along at a faster pace if we wanted. 

The new waitress overheard Kaede say that she was going to run her own pizza and pasta joint when she grows up.  Her speciality is going to be the cheese-free pizza, in honour of her mouldy milk hating Dad.  She asked Kaede if she would like to watch the chef make the pizzas to which she got an excited ‘yes’ answer.  This was Kaede’s equivalent of being asked into the cockpit of a plane to meet the pilot and she was gone like a shot.

After another round of drinks our mains arrived.  Fusilli Alla Rusticana for Storm, Spicy Beef pizza for the Mrs, Pepperoni Pizzas for the little’uns and Spaghetti with King Prawns for me.  Again, the silence gave testament to how good the food was.  Everybody enjoyed their meal, including my Wife the wannabe food critic, who has walked me out of more restaurants than she’s walked me in.  The kids deal was £4.95 for three courses plus a drink which really represented value for money.  The portion sizes were more than generous and yet the kids still had room for the obligatory ice-cream dessert. 

The toilets were clean, spacious and included baby changing facilities, although I count my blessings that I no longer have to avail of those.  Something we also no longer need is a high chair, but my good wife informed me that the ones they have there are the good ones, the ones she always felt safe (?) with.  Although Prezzo doesn’t pitch itself as a kiddie restaurant, you aren’t made to feel unwelcome for dragging your little monsters in with you.  It does act as a good stepping stone between the noisy play area eateries and the kind of restaurant you wouldn’t dream of bringing children to.

All in all the whole meal was a success and one I hope to repeat soon. 

Vouchercodes.co.uk have asked us to score Prezzo, so here are our all important score cards.

Housebandian Rhapsody

Is this just my life?
It's sure no fantasy
Caught in a timeslip
Of such endless banality
Open my eyes
And try to smell fresh coffee
I'm just a Houseband
Getting no sympathy
Because I'm "get this Dad", "take me here"
"where's my socks?" need a beer
Every day the same shit
Doesn't really matter to me, to me

Mama just ate some ham
Put some eggs upon her plate
Picked her fork up and she ate
Mama, breakfast just begun
And now you've gone and ate it all away
Mama, ooh
Didn't mean to make them fried
If they're not poached just right this time tomorrow
Have them boiled, have them boiled, it doesn't really matter

We're late, school bell has rung
Putting washing on the line
Body's aching all the time
Goodbye lazy mornings
I've got to sweep
Gotta find those dust bunnies and old cobwebs
Dusting, oooooooh (Every way the wind blows)
I just don't know why?
Sometimes wish I'd never cleaned up at all

[Air Guitar Solo]

I hear a moody teenage girl upon the stairs
Hair goes Whoosh. Hair goes Whoosh. Lost in a cloud of perfume
Purple nails and scrunchy, very, very trendy indeed
Where's my trainers? Where's my trainers? Where's my trainers and my coat?
Oh here we go-o-o-o-o
I'm just a young girl nobody loves me
She's just a young girl from a Twitter family
Sparing her nails from this monstrosity

Party please, ends at 12, will you let me go?
You're joking? No, we will not let you go
Let her go
You're joking? We will not let you go
Let her go
You're joking? We will not let you go
Let me go (Will not let you go)
Let me go (Will not let you go) (Never, never, never, never)
Let me go, o, o, o, o
No, no, no, no, no, no, no

Put that down Mate. Put that down Mate. Put it down before it burns
The A&E has a gurney put aside for thee, for thee, for thee

So you think that these spuds will just peel themselves
So you think that your clothes just appear on your shelves
Oh, children, can't do this to me, children
Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here

[Air Guitar Solo]
(Oooh yeah, Oooh yeah)

I do all the hard work
For a lousy fee
I do all the hard work
I do all the hard work for free

I deserve a beer now...

Survival of the Fittest

I was in the kitchen preparing Katy's lunch for school one morning last week. After the whole school dinners debacle (see blog for excruciating details) we are firmly in the packed lunch dept. I removed the stalk from her apple and loosened the flap on her box of raisins. It was as I was making a slight tear in her tube of yogurt to help her open it, that it occurred to me that maybe I was doing her a disservice. I was making everything so easy for her, how was she ever going to learn? How would she ever be able to fend for herself if I continued on this path?

Right there and then I decided I was going to toughen her up. With that in mind, I didn't cut her roll in half, and I also wrapped it in a length of Clingfilm as tall as she was. I put it all in her lunch bag, added a carton of juice but removed the straw, and zipped it up all the way, without even leaving a little gap to make it easy to open. Happy with the start I had made on my new regime, I packed her off to school, tempted to make her walk, but as she is still only four, I drove her.

Once at school I put the next part of my plan into action. Five minutes before the bell went, I left Katy in the playground outside the classroom and said my goodbyes. I figured I would watch from a distance, and see how she coped with being on her own. I was quite proud to see her force her way to the front of the queue, eager to learn obviously. I moved nearer and peered in and saw the real reason she forced her way to the front. There on a table, by the door, was a bowl of bananas. Obviously not enough for the whole class, not even by half. Apparently a big glass of milk, two weetabix, and a slice of bread and honey isn't enough for a growing girl.

My worries for Katy's survival skills lessened, and to be honest at four she is probably beyond help anyway. I had observed her 15 year old sister Dawn try to light the hob with a lighter only the previous night, without any great success I might add. I would have to watch that situation, if she improves then I know she's started smoking. So another lost cause there then. I decided to concentrate on the boy, he was only two, still young enough to mould, still pliable in my good intentioned hands.

I had to teach him some hunter-gatherer skills. Not the easiest thing to teach when you live in the City and your trainee is two. All that was left for me was to hide his lunch. I would make it in front of him, send him out of the kitchen, and hide his plate in one of the low cupboards. On the first day I left the door slightly ajar so he would understand the game, but from then on he was on his own. He got the hang of it quite quickly, so I started hiding it in higher and harder places. The boy did me proud each time, and then he started to give me a smug grin. Let's see how smug he is today when he goes looking. I have hidden his lunch in the car, and the best bit is, shhh, I have to whisper this bit... I have hidden the car keys in my pocket. Score one for Dad.

I read an article once about the rise in the number of kids with peanut allergies. The author seemed to suggest that as pregnant women were cutting them out of their diet completely, when the child did first come in contact with peanuts, it would develop a reaction. He drew a parallel with our vaccination system whereby the child had a little bit of the measles, or polio bug introduced to their system. They then developed immunity to it, and Robert's your Father's brother.

My hygiene hypothesis was born. Working on the same lines as the eminent professors before me, I came to the conclusion that everything was too clean. All those tiny little bugs were being super-anti-bacteriologicaled away, leaving the door open for the big bad ones that follow in their footsteps. There could only be one cure for this, stop cleaning. Start believing that dirt is good, dust is our friend, and grime is the enemy of e-coli. I packed all the cleaning implements into a box, and retired them to the dustbin, safe in the knowledge that I was building a healthier future for Mate. Well safe in the knowledge until eight days later. That's when Wifey slipped on a discarded and forgotten roast potato. If that wasn't bad enough, whilst she was wriggling round on the floor like an upended turtle, she happened to notice the accumulation of crap on the laminate floor. Like a teacher dishing out lines in school, she demanded an explanation.

This has been the said explanation.

Please, anything but this.

A notice went up on Katy's school window last week, basically saying that if any child wanted to try out school dinners, put your name down and pick a date. It seemed a strangely formal way of doing things, but as Katy had been banging on about having lunch like her friends, I put her name down and promptly forgot about it. Well up until two days before the grand event, and another notice went up. This one explained that the parents had to pay for their own dinners, and could we sort that out at the Reception.

Whoa, wait a minute, I've been conned. I never signed up for this, did I? I went back to the original notice and read all the way to the bottom this time. God damned small print "We feel this will be a good way for parents to experience the quality of food we provide your children". I felt the blood drain from my face, I distractedly waved goodbye to Katy, and trudged back to the car. I sat there for a few moments, quietly contemplating my fate, before letting out a scream of frustration that made poor forgotten Mate cry.

They couldn't make me eat it surely? It has taken me over 25 years to get over my own school dinners, and I'm still not sure my system is 100% free of it. I swear I did a burp the other day that had remnants of the Oxtail slop I ate when I was eight. No way was I going to risk it again, not in this lifetime. I don't care what anyone says, I'm going to put my foot down, point blank refuse to get involved in this insanity.

"You are going and that's the end of the subject. You are not letting our daughter down."

My fate was sealed. Foiled by Catholic guilt and a stern voice, and I'm not even Catholic, or a listener, or brave it seems. That left me the whole weekend to mope and sulk, and prepare my stomach for the long battle ahead. I stocked up with Andrews, indigestion tablets, chewing gum and Jack Daniels. I was nothing if not prepared.

When you are 2 days from payday (or housekeeping for me, heaven forbid someone actually pays me for my 24/7 job) two days last an eternity, but with its usual comical cosmic timekeeping, Monday lunchtime sped around. I arranged for the Mother in law to watch Mate, who with knife twisting irony, complained that the lunch I left him was not sufficient. I bit my tongue (probably the only decent thing I would eat today) and calmly explained that a ham sarnie, apple, raisins, yogurt, and cup of milk normally kept him happy. After she gave me a look that made me feel like a stranger to my own son, I shrugged and left them to it. Handy to know there was a fate worse than death after all.

As I sat in the car outside the school, I gathered my thoughts, summoned up my courage, and made the sign of the cross. I heard a shout of "Dead man walking" as I approached the reception. Fricking caretaker thinks he's so funny. I told him to get his bucket of sawdust ready, that wiped the smile off his face. After explaining to the receptionist what I was there for, I was then given a visitors tag to wear like the world's worst back stage pass. I can only blame the next conversation on my nerves, and my insistence on attempting humour to settle myself.

Receptionist: Will you being having one course or two?

Me : You mean like appetizers and entrées, ha ha?

Receptionist: No. Dinner and dessert.

Me : You're kidding right? Who in their right minds would eat a school dessert? The Art Department used to use the left over semolina and jam as building products at my school, ha ha.

Receptionist: One course or two?

Me : (very sheepishly) Just dinner please.

I had to sit and wait until the lunchtime bell went, all the while feeling her stare burning a hole in the top of my hung low head. I literally jumped out of my seat when it eventually rung, and went through to the dinner hall at speed. I spotted Katy waiting with her friends in the queue, and she gave me the biggest 'That's my Dad smile' when I went and joined them. I don't get that smile at pick up time, suddenly this was all seeming worth it. Katy made the introductions, and I attempted to win her friends over with my world renowned kid's humour. Getting their names wrong on purpose failed, funny noises failed, even my sarcastic remarks died a death.

I guess I forgot that my sense of humour is an acquired taste. Katy is quite used to it by now, and actually gets irony. I realised this one night when I was getting them both ready for bed. Little Miss Independent was putting her own PJ's on whilst I changed Mate's nappy. She happened to say "I love my little brother, he is the most cleverest brother in the whole wide world." That comment was still hanging in the air in a speech bubble, when Mate pulled himself and let out a yelp. I turned to Katy and remarked "Yeah, your brother is so clever he pulled his own willy so hard he made himself cry." Katy literally fell off the bed laughing, and continued to laugh for five whole minutes. I was so proud (well a mixture of pride and worry that Mate may well pull it off next time).

I remained silent until we reached the front of the queue, happy to let the kids chatter around me, nervously eyeing the ever nearing serving hatch. Today's choice was apparently chicken sausages, mash, baked beans and veg or salad. Pineapple and ice cream, or yogurt for dessert. We collected our food and I stumbled to the nearest table, blinded by what was the whitest mash, in fact the whitest anything I had seen in my life.

I'm not sure I can describe the meal with any real justice. Looking back, I think I may have done what any traumatised person does. Push the memory deep down into that part of you where you bury all your deep dark secrets, and other plain nasty things. Things like walking in on your parents at it, or the time you drove your bike into a wall and ended up with five stitches in your head. Actually I think that last memory may have been knocked out of my head, that whole day's a blur to be honest.

I am of the opinion that giving four year old children, who are just learning how to use a knife and fork properly, rubber sausages to eat is downright cruel. Funny to watch, but cruel. Once my pupils had contracted to the size of pinholes, I was able to attempt the mash. Somehow these cooks had defied the laws of physics and had created solid foam. They had also defied the laws of cooking, and created something totally and completely without taste. I may knock them, but it must take a certain amount of skill to achieve both those things. Not a useful skill, but a skill nonetheless.

A passing Dinner Lady happened to notice the face I was pulling, and remarked that it probably needed salt. My retort of "that and a bottle of Gin" did not go down well. No sense of humour these people, although judging by the lovely polite children (where's my sarcasm font) I was sitting opposite, it's hardly a wonder. The two angelic (that does mean odious right?) girls in question, had demanded that Alpha Mums son was in 'their' seat, and he had to move. Sensing an opportunity to score some brownie points with his Mum, I said he could come and sit next to me. They then actually had the audacity to tell me you are not allowed to change seats. Having been on the end of three disgusted stares myself that day, I tried to give my own in response. This was interrupted by Katy begging me not to blow off in front of her friends. Apparently my authoritative look is much like my breaking wind look.

Katy being the human dustbin that she is, soon polished off her dinner, and wanted to go out and play. This was obviously my cue to leave, which I grabbed with both hands. I said my goodbyes and took our trays to the front. I received my last look of shame when I had to scrape my hardly touched dinner into the bins. This one was actually accompanied with a quite audible tut tut from the Dinner Lady.

I was instantly transported back to my childhood, and instinctively hung my head again. Looking down and looking at my big adult shoes reminded me that I was no longer a child, no longer answerable to the hair-netted Hitlers. I turned to slay her asunder with my rapier sharp wit, strike a blow for all children everywhere. I turned, stood tall and proud, held eye contact, and mumbled a "Sorry" as I turned tail and sped out of the hall. Some things will never change.